


'til it was near morning

by Metis_Ink



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, a ficlet about mornings, i adopted another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metis_Ink/pseuds/Metis_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the days change for Andrew, they start at the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'til it was near morning

**Author's Note:**

> heck i just needed to get this out of my system
> 
> please help me i finished this series two days ago and i'm in hell

Waking up before everyone else is the easy part. Andrew’s never been a heavy sleeper; there’s too much to be awake for. Not life, not then, but the little things: a creak at the door, a shadow crossing his form, hands, everywhere.

Andrew sleeps late, wakes early. He naps wherever he wants throughout the day, on the couch or on the bus after a game. It’s harder for people to touch him in public, and if they do, they regret it. It’s safe to say waking up isn’t his favorite part of the day, morning or otherwise.

Waking up means there’s still something to do. _You’re still here_ , will come the reminder, as the sun through the window or the heavy air of dawn. Sometimes it’s just part of an unending nightmare, out of one and into the next.

But the dreams are vivid, adamant to never let him forget. Reality is dull and pointless and he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have to be. Life is the world’s most boring job, nothing but clock in, get over with it, clock out. Rinse and repeat. But it’s important, at least, the people around him think it is. They need him so they don’t end up dead in a ditch.

And he’d kill Talia again, if he had to. He wouldn’t have cared if those four assholes at the bar had died. He’d take Renee’s knives again. Drug Matt. That’s life. Not a choice, but something that needs to be done. Nothing more. He’s believed that for twenty years.

 

 

(The answer came to him with a _Fuck you_ , reeling but still fighting when Andrew couldn’t care if he’d broken every one of its ribs.

It came to him on a rooftop. A misconception righting itself, shifting into a revelation. It was honesty, from a problem, after months of lies and half-truths and running. An answer that couldn’t have been real, not for him.

It came to him in a hotel. Found. Broken. But there. It came swearing to him, without so much of a sorry when Andrew realized that he was far too late to save himself from the disaster that is Neil Josten.)

 

 

When Andrew first wakes up to Neil, and it feels anything but real. The past few days hadn’t felt real; the riot, Neil’s disappearance, the searching, the desperation, the call from the FBI, Kevin’s confession, the fact that Kevin almost let Neil die, the sudden pressure of his hands squeezing Kevin’s neck, the constant storm inside of him that should have been impossible for someone like Andrew to even hold.

And then, Neil.

Cut up by his father. Burned by his past. His arms, his body, his face. But he was there, alive, staring down at Andrew as if he were the answer.

There was a shift in the world then. Because it came to Andrew that right there, to this person, in this moment, it was _Andrew_ who meant something.

And everything made sense.

It’s that morning in the cabin that suggests that this can be something. When breathing comes too easily, and he can’t tell the moment when dream becomes reality. Dreams were vivid, a reminder for why he was here. Sometimes they were fleeting, nightmares disguised as hope, just coming to tell him about the things he couldn’t have. Neil was only supposed to be one of those.

But this Neil is real. This is the Neil who could stare at him unapologetically on the bus and could kiss him until all of the walls and excuses disappeared. This was the Neil who was stupid enough for _not without you_ and _I want to go back for you_. Neil with his unhealthy Exy obsession and mouth that never knew when to shut up. With his lies and fears and patchwork body. Andrew wants to drag his teeth over Neil’s untouched cheek and make sure that everyone can see that Nathan Wesninski isn’t the only one making his mark on this person’s life.

Andrew doesn’t notice that he’s admitted to his own worth. He gets distracted by the bandages. The way dawn looks over Neil. The sense of rightness that eases him as a calming hum in the back of his mind. He pushes his desires down, gets up, gets dressed, and prepares for the day.

 

 

(Words like _comfort_ , _trust_ , and _love_ are meaningless to Andrew. They’re overused promises that have always been broken in time. Maybe that’s why it took so long to understand.)

 

 

None of it was supposed to last. The warmth, the mornings, the turbulent feeling of existence, Neil. But after months, years, Neil becomes the buffer. He’s there when Andrew fades away, and there when Andrew wakes up: still, unchanging, constant. With Neil, the world just eases in. Life, Neil, Dreams, Neil, Life, repeat.

Most of the time, when Andrew wakes up, he has time to trace the cautious lines of Neil’s back or the angry burns on his cheekbone. He won’t touch Neil while he’s asleep, but the moment that the sound of Andrew’s breathing opens Neil’s eyes, it’s Neil’s choice whether Andrew will ignore him or yank him in by his hair until there’s no way Neil can remember the past when he’s thinking about Andrew’s touch.

Sometimes, the mornings start with Neil’s voice. Because Neil knows better than to touch Andrew while he’s sleeping, and Andrew always responds when Neil says his name. _Andrew_ , he hears, and responds. Because that person exists, and that person is him. When he opens his eyes, he’s needed.

And then, every once in a while, all Andrew wakes up to is a gaze. One half-awake, but knowing, a deep blue that once followed Andrew’s sleeping form. Years ago, Andrew would have told Neil to stop, maybe even have reacted at the thought of being watched while he was vulnerable, but it comes to him as instinct that this is Neil. Andrew knows what that gaze means, the look in his eyes.

 

 

(Back then, Andrew didn’t think Neil understood what the answer was. The reason to continue. The reminder of one’s worth. Purpose. Neil had no right to look at Andrew like that; Andrew was nobody’s answer.

But Neil had a bad habit of winning arguments, and he always did it through action. Giving back. Fulfilling promises.)

 

 

(This isn’t a dream.)

 

 

In some way, it’s all the same. Andrew does his job, Neil does his. Andrew’s job is to take a team to championships and feed the cats. His job is to experience another weekend road trip and leave the past behind. It’s to cook and play Exy and be there to remind Neil that he’s everything after years of being believing that he’s nothing.

Neil’s job is to exist, so that when Andrew wakes up, he doesn’t have time to ask himself what the point of living is anymore. The answer is already waiting for him.

Andrew breathes and starts another day.


End file.
